


Cold Light of Morning

by dizzyt



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Smut, bad experience with a fuckboy, foreshadowing otapliroy for kait, loverboy au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 21:09:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10544374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzyt/pseuds/dizzyt
Summary: A Loverboy AU fic.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kaitealyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaitealyn/gifts).



 

Strange how hostile a town looks at four in the morning when all the doors are locked.

 

Yuri paces the street and finds himself on the main road. He’s been here countless times, day and night but even with the spring warmth hanging in the air, it now has a cold hue that gives him chills. Neon lights cling to Yuri’s skin; he feels exposed passing by ‘Closed’ signs. His shoulders hurt from being stretched relentlessly and the slumbering avenue offers no consolation. He knows the place is empty apart from the muffled tune coming from the bar at the far end of the road, but he can’t help but feel like he’s being watched, he’s being judged. He wants a joint, badly.

The night has been a fuck up. No other explanation when it’s past 5 AM and he’s out alone, wiping off rebel tears furiously, beating the pavement with the heels of his sneakers. He absentmindedly stares at the dark stores one by one, missing the irony of feeling like a stranger in a town where you’ve lived for a long time. Long enough, anyways...

When he reaches the 24h supermarket, he walks inside as if he has a purpose but his eyes focus on none of the produce. Walking towards the back of the store, he avoids the cashier and vanishes behind a toilet paper deal pyramid. Tears keep pushing, Yuri keeps wiping them off.

The night has been a _real_ fuck up. Thinking about the room he was in ten minutes ago makes him gag with anxiety; his arms are sore from being pulled back like lifeless harnesses and he doesn’t want to think about it anymore. He went there willing to have sex, hoping to get a bed for the night. He got halfway there. That snarling bastard’s cheap whisky breath is still vivid in his mind; he carefully skips the liqueur isle and stand in front of a bunch of diabetic biscuits, unsure of what to do next.

He hates himself.

He hates himself, and the life he leads, and how nothing ever works out smoothly. He hates himself for having no pride, no backbone, no choice. That’s a lie, he thinks, as he stares at discount digestives. He has a choice but it’s a hard one and he’d rather sleep on benches than being a burden to someone he so desperately wants to impress. Fails to impress, repeatedly.

His breath accelerates and his face burns as he walks past the stupid bright packages of store-brand candies and looks at soda cans behind the glass door. His reflection is see-through, as if he is barely there at all. Yuri finds it fitting, as he is feeling stretched paper thin, ready to snap any moment. His lower back hurts, his thighs hurt, his ass is sore with every step he takes. He sighs at his messy bun and lifeless face and reaches for a cold coffee can. He doesn’t recognize the brand but it’s two for one and he needs two to stay awake until sun rises and he can sneak into the college library to take a nap. He really hoped to get some decent sleep that night, before going back to the diner tomorrow for his afternoon shift. Everything looks made up behind the veil of his weariness. The roots of his hair still stings where it was pulled harshly; first for lust, then for resentment.  He feels the oozing come making his boxers stick to his ass and he wants to rip his shorts off but he can’t. So he pays for his two-for-one shitty cold coffee and leaves, finally ignoring the streaming tears. Cashier pays no attention to him; she also probably has shit to deal with. She has no time for Yuri’s crack of dawn life crisis.

Chugging the first can swiftly, Yuri sniffles as he aimlessly walks up and down the road, doing his best to ignore a distant catcall and feeling sicker by the minute. It’s a small town; the only places he can wait until it’s properly light out is the 24h McDonald’s which is twenty minutes’ walk away, and the 24/7 laundromat that is never that crowded ever since the fancier one opened close to the mall. It has fake palm trees and free Wi-Fi and uncomfortable wooden desk with electric plugs to charge your phone. Yuri doesn’t care for it, it always turns into a hangout for college crowd and it closes at 7 pm, which means he’d never get there in time to wash his shit and get them back before they lock the doors on him. 24/7 Fresh Laundromat has been in business before the Declaration of Independence probably, Yuri is never sure but every local tells that it’s there ever since they can remember. It’s good enough for Yuri’s thrifted clothes and homeless nights.

As soon as he walks into the empty laundromat and closes the door behind him, Yuri is overwhelmed by the need to bawl but he waits until he sets his backpack on a chair and sits his ass down cautiously. Hiding behind a set of washing machines to avoid possible passers-by, he opens the second can and starts sobbing. He hates himself for being there, he hates himself for drinking revolting cold coffee from a tin can, he hates himself for still sitting on a vile guy’s come. He wants to take a shower and sleep for days until weeks blend into each other and he can no longer remember what he’s supposed to do and where he’s supposed to be. He fidgets on his chair, drying to get rid of the wet feeling but it spreads instead and Yuri gives up, letting his shoulders shake with his sobs.

Considering calling Otabek lasts for a mere second, before he remembers that the guy actually goes to school and has a class next morning – _this_ morning. It’s morning, slowly but surely. Yuri recognizes that faint tint of blue light breaking the pitch black. He feels like a fool watching the far corner of the visible sky turning royal blue and ugly-crying into his coffee. It tastes bad, no way around it. Leaves an overly sweetened and still bitter film over his tongue where worse things have touched in the past few hours. He chugs the coffee like it is sterilizer and keeps crying. The place is eerily quiet in the way only early mornings can be; Yuri is truly aware that he is all alone. It hits him as the last drops of coffee slides through his throat and he no longer has anything to keep his hands busy.

_“Get the fuck out, baby whore! If you can’t take it, then you can get fucked on the fucking street. Like I don’t know why you’re here… I’m smart, I knew it alright.”_

Yuri hates himself for considering doing what the scumbag asked, so he wouldn’t have to walk the streets with a bag on his back, hiding in the corners so people won’t recognize he’s not out by choice. He hates himself for not having the guts to call Otabek, he hates himself for still staying here, trying to make it work.  At least it’s spring, he thinks. He’s given up on wiping his face a while ago, it’s not worth the effort. At least it’s spring and once it’s morning, he can sleep on the grass at the park, looking like any stoned college boy, not bothering Otabek with his mess that seems to have no end. He deserves better, he thinks. Otabek deserves much better.

 

* * *

 

 

Yuri nearly chokes on his own spit when he feels someone poking his shoulder. He is ready to roast whoever it is that inconsiderate bastard who dares to wake him up so early, when he had barely closed his eyes behind his heart-shaped sunglasses. f only he had the energy to open them fully and glare at the scum who disturbed his slumber. He might be napping on a bench under an oak tree pretending to be awake but since when did people run around, pulling and poking at strangers who—

“Yuri?”  
  
_Otabek._

Otabek’s voice makes him force open his eyes and look up. Sunlight feels like a personal insult at this point; his splitting headache demands a dark, quiet corner and plenty of ice packs but Yuri has neither. He has to go to work in three hours instead, without sleeping, showering or doing anything that would make it possible to get a decent tip. He blinks at Otabek, spending his valuable energy to crack a smile. Everything requires more energy than usual and his back hurts like a bitch but Beka doesn’t need to know this. He stands there, looking surprised, maybe concerned, carrying a shit load of books for a day of classes. Yuri knows Otabek’s schedule, his entire day is full today and his roommate is locked up in a lab somewhere in the school, ready to complain about it when he arrives home. Every Thursday.  
  
“Yuri, what are you doing here?”  
  
Conversations… Yuri’s had these; he can remember how to talk. He widens his smile and shrugs.  
  
“Sunbathing. Left this guy’s place early… Don’t you have class?” _Please, please go to your class._  
  
If only Otabek weren’t so relentless. From the blurry look of his freshly shaven face, Beka has no intention of moving an inch. Yuri can smell his aftershave and he hates how much he loves that scent. Otabek shifts his backpack and tilts his head, looking like a confused child who has seen a weird fish in an aquarium. If only.  
  
“I do. This is where you tan?”  
  
“Yeah? Sorry if I disrupted your morning view, officer… Come on Beka, go to your class.”  
  
_So close_ , he was so close to getting rid of Otabek who would be in blissful ignorance, if his voice wasn’t so raspy. Yuri sighs, fixes his sunglasses and smiles again; even this much is straining and he wishes nothing but to be left alone. Instead, Otabek drops his bag on the ground, sits beside him and reaches for the red heart sunglasses. Yuri tries to lean back but Otabek is taller and even if he was a hobbit he’d be successful at removing the sunglasses because Yuri has nowhere to run on a dingy bench that still has puke stains from last week’s street party.  
  
The brash sunlight feels like ice picks in his eyes but shutting them any tighter sends another shooting pain through his brain down to his neck. Yuri tries to say something to Otabek and snatch his cheap plastic sunglasses back but the look in Beka’s eyes stops him. He can play the fool for only so long.  
  
So he sighs. He sighs deep and long and puts his hand out so Otabek can give the stupid glasses back and be on his way without further ado.  
  
He must be a sight to see, because Otabek’s sharp eyebrows rise high.  
  
“What happened?”  
  
It’s a simple question with a simple answer; but simple doesn’t always mean pleasant and Yuri cannot bring himself to say anything about his bloodshot eyes. Otabek waits for the answer, being the patient saint he is but Yuri settles for a shrug. It’s not good enough to make Otabek’s worry crease between his brows disappear.  
  
“Give me your bag,” Otabek commands; even though Yuri tries to copy his expression as much as he can, it is not a success.  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“We’re going home. Give me your bag.”  
  
Yuri rolls his eyes and regrets the movement immediately. Any extreme movement on his face is yet another invitation for the budding migraine. But he objects all the same, just because it comes naturally and he cannot think delicately enough to find a better argument.  
  
“What? Don’t be stupid… I’ll go to work in a couple hours, you have class. Go before you’re late.”  
  
They are surrounded by the usual morning crowd: yawning students regretting their class choices, coffee shop regulars walking with their first coffee in to-go cups, people going to work… It’s that time of the day where people go out and get things done until they earn their evening beer and the newest episode of their TV show. Otabek shouldn’t be heading back home because Yuri is a walking mistake.  
  
Yuri does his best to ignore the demand. It fails.  
  
Otabek has a way of being convincing by doing nothing at all; he is a presence of immovable will and common sense in front of Yuri, and even the thought of arguing with this mule of a guy when he’s had 30 minutes of half-sleep is enough to make his eyes burn. Yuri is too aware of every muscle in his body and feeling exposed after the night he spent rediscovering the streets he already knows well.  
  
He sighs again, deep and long. It’s not exasperation; it is surrender.  
  
Yuri loves Otabek’s aftershave. He loves how Otabek grabs both their bags with ease and gestures at him to get up. He loves that Otabek never grimaces at the sight of him, no matter how much of a mess it may be. He loves that Otabek takes care of him, whether Yuri asks for it or not.  
  
And Yuri _hates_ being the burden of Otabek’s life; but even then, Yuri still loves Otabek is there. So he follows, without arguing and without grumbling.  
  
Otabek asks nothing else. Yuri says no more.  
  
The walk home has been a fight between Yuri and his body as Otabek quietly led the way. Yuri can find his way to Beka’s place even when he is shitfaced but a different kind of exhaustion is closing in on him and he can only do the bare minimum, which is keeping an eye on Otabek’s legs while his head hangs down, trying not to fall sleep on his feet. The fifteen minute walk feels endless but once he is in the apartment, alone with Otabek, the weight on Yuri’s shoulders lift ever so slightly; not even noticeable to himself. This much safety and quiet is enough to make his throat burn with the shadow of his sobs in a laundromat; he sighs harshly to push it back, but it won’t give up, not unlike Otabek.  
  
He complies when Otabek helps him out of his age-old, stained converses; balancing on one foot as Otabek unties the death-trap that is his shoelaces. Grandpa always made him knot three times because Yuri always stepped on his loose laces, tripped and skinned his knees. Old photo albums have several photos of him with knees covered in plasters. Otabek is always annoyed when he has to help Yuri with his shoes, whenever Yuri is drunk and about to pass out, but this time he doesn’t complain or tease Yuri about his child-like laces or the chances of him being a sailor in a past life. He just takes the shoes off, letting Yuri lean on him whenever he sways.  
  
The small apartment is bare and mismatched the way most college boys’ apartments are. Yuri has slept many times on the questionably stained convertible sofa (which has never been converted into anything other than a dining table because everybody is too lazy), staring at the foot print on the ceiling, wondering how it got there. Otabek’s roommate is a total geek but his house parties get crazy. Apparently, anything is possible when a few nerds are high and in the middle of an intense episode of Cthulu FRP scenario.  
  
It’s hard to care about all that, especially when Otabek is taking off his sunglasses and tucking his hair behind his ear; depriving Yuri’s vision off the rosy hue that comes with the cheap dark red lenses.  
  
Yuri remembers clearly; digging through the charity bin and snatching the heart shaped plastic frames. It was the day Otabek played Unplugged in New York album in the car as Yuri sucked on a Melody Pop. He remembers Otabek calling him pretty when he first put the shades on. He didn’t take them off the entire day, even when it was starting to get dark. Teasing Otabek about his questionable driving skills and driving around the small town feels like yesterday, when yesterday feels like a life time ago. Yuri is strained and shaken, yet the memory washes over him like soothing salve. He nods when Otabek suggests that he take a shower.  
  
“Will you help me?”  
  
“Of course.”  
  
“You have school.”  
  
“It’ll still be there tomorrow, let it go.”  
  
If Otabek’s voice wasn’t soft like first moments of sleep, Yuri could argue even in his jaded state. Instead, he nods again and follows Otabek, into the bathroom this time.  
  
Otabek helps Yuri out of his clothes, tossing them onto his own laundry pile. Yuri looks spotless and ivory as always, save from the small bruises that are the fruits of intense affection. _Not Otabek’s affection._ Otabek would know his own marks. Seeing a stranger’s fingerprints on Yuri sends a twinge of sour at the back of his throat but the boy in front of him is distracting and Otabek doesn’t resist. His smile at Yuri isn’t returned; Yuri slowly blinks at him as he steps into the shower, sending a wordless ‘received’ message to Otabek. Judging by the slump of his shoulders, it is the best Otabek can hope for, at least for now.  
  
The water is too hot for Otabek’s taste, he prefers cooler showers but Yuri likes the feeling of water hitting his back, almost hurting his skin and not quite so. His shoulders go pink under the heat and Otabek reaches for the minty shampoo, wanting to wash the pungent cigarette stink of the blond mane and replacing it with something clean, something familiar, something _him_.  
  
He feels sick, realizing that he wants to scent-mark Yuri like a freak, but chases the thought away, justifying it with good intentions. He doesn’t know why Yuri’s eyes are still puffy and red, and he doesn’t know if he can make them go away but by god he will do what he can. Letting his hands burn under the water or trying not to bite his lips looking at Yuri’s frail stance included.  
  
This isn’t new to either of them, not the nudity, not the shower company. Otabek remembers the first day he helped Yuri wash himself; it tasted a lot like vodka and cherry cola, seasoned with discount onion chips. Yuri was half dressed and tipsily complained the entire time about his burning eyes. Now, Otabek wished he was loud and whiny again. Yuri is still silent and almost pliable as the water spills and washes the shampoo off his head, over his torso. The pink hue of his eyes isn’t gone yet but he is breathing easier and his brows don’t reach for each other in quiet disappointment in life. A small victory, Otabek can take it.  
  
Otabek’s hands wander on Yuri’s slender body, spreading the shower gel on places Yuri helps him reach. His skin is always soft as if it will remain eternally young. Yuri seems desperate to wash between his legs without his help, so Otabek lets him do his thing but feels that sour irritating his throat again, only because Yuri’s rush means he had a night he would not want to keep carrying on his body. Otabek wants to ask, wants to _know_ but Yuri has been quiet from the moment Otabek told him he was taking him home. Yuri is a talker when the company is right so Otabek knows that he will be fed bad lies, if he decides to insist. He lets Yuri clean himself inside and out, rubbing the foams on Yuri’s skin, his movements slow and purposeful.  
  
Tense muscles relax under his fingers. Another small victory.  
  
The splashing water from the dodgy shower head has already soaked the front of his t-shirt but Otabek pays no mind, until Yuri reaches a hand and tugs at the fabric.  
  
“Hm?”  
  
Otabek avoids looking directly at Yuri, trying to focus on rinsing the final clouds of foam off the pale skin smooth and slippery under his hands. The silence is almost eerie and the water hits the tiles with sharp splashes, drowning the voices coming from the next apartment. That deaf fucker next door watches the same morning show every day and Otabek has started to get twitches just from the voice of the host now. It doesn’t matter, though, as Yuri demands his attention again with another tug and Otabek gives in. Yura is not the kind of person that can be ignored easily and Otabek doesn’t wear his iron will proudly when it comes to him.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
Yuri answers only when Otabek meets his eyes.  
  
“Thanks… Sorry I’m a mess.”  
  
Otabek looks at Yuri standing dripping wet, stepping closer like a nymph who will steal his last breath under the lake. Otabek would thank him. Yet he cannot shake the image of Yuri quietly following him home like a stray cat, and it takes everything in him to leave a kiss on Yuri’s damp forehead and leave it there.  
  
“You’re not a mess.”  
  
Yuri doesn’t answer Otabek but only because he has too much evidence to prove him wrong and he doesn’t have the energy to list them all when he is sleep deprived and aching. The kiss leaves his eyes burning, this time for all the right reasons. Otabek is the kindest fucking person on the planet and Yuri isn’t sure why he is the receiving part of his understanding but all the same, he is thankful. He tugs at the t-shirt, this time upwards and exposes the tones skin underneath that puts a knot in his chest. He has memorized Otabek’s body by now but it still leaves him uncomfortably warm at the pit of his belly, drawing all his heat to one spot, forcing him to acknowledge it.  
  
Otabek sighs and it flicks that snap of fear in Yuri’s ribcage, pointy and barely there, and he almost pulls away when Beka closes his fingers over Yuri’s.  
  
“Yura…”  
  
“Beka, I’m—”  
  
“You need sleep.”  
  
“…You don’t want me?”  
  
“That’s not it.”  
  
Biting his bottom lip, Yuri steps closer, feeling the chill down his back now it’s deprived of the warmth of steaming water. The bathroom floor is wet with splatter and so is the older boy’s clothes. Standing pressed against Otabek doesn’t fix that but it fixes everything else. He can feel the hard against his crotch behind its denim barrier, he can feel Otabek’s belly hollowing with an exhale that tickles Yuri’s cheekbones. Even under the unflattering fluorescent light of the small bathroom, he looks beautiful. Yuri loves his surprisingly soft lips and the faint freckles that he can only see when he is this close. He needs to be this close. Clos _er_.  
  
“Beka, I need it.”  
  
It sounds far too much like _‘I need you’_ , they can both hear it.  
  
It’s hot inside with the door closed and Yuri’s too warm shower still running. Medicine cabinet’s mirror is already steamed up and in his peripheral vision; Otabek can see that they look like ghosts, dissolving water colours against the white surface. Anytime Yuri breathes against his lips like this, he feels lightheaded. Every time Yuri looks like he will crumble if he doesn’t hold Otabek, he gives in.  
  
His left hand reaches for Yuri’s chin and pull him gingerly for a barely-there peck; his other hand grazes his hip and kneads its way through the flesh until he reaches Yuri’s hole, still secretly sore from unaffectionate fucking. Teasing touch makes Yuri twitch and lean on Otabek and, _fuck,_ it’s enough to stir Beka’s cock when Yuri mewls shakily, his eyes already cloudy with want.  
  
Hunger hanging between them is making Otabek’s temples tingle but he has to ask again, and again if needed, because his Yura is looking spent and weary, even when he is pressed against him, already eager to grind on his jeans, his hole clenching beneath Otabek’s familiar fingers.  
  
“You sure?”  
  
Yuri bites his answer into Otabek’s jaw, humming an approval. His day and night have been a blast in all the bad ways but Beka is doing great at making it okay again. Yuri could stand there melting into the kiss, letting Otabek tease his rim until both of them are aching for relief but ever the sensible, Beka turns off the water and wraps Yuri up in a towel before he can even whine about having to dry himself. Little drops of water around his chest get sucked by Otabek’s patient lips, leaving Yuri tense. Beka doesn’t even need to tell Yuri what to do; Yuri latches onto him and clumsily follows Otabek into his small bedroom. It’s hard to see where he’s headed with eyes half shut and mouth greedily claiming Beka’s neck.  
  
Lucky for him, Otabek never leads him somewhere he will get hurt.  
  
He leaves Yuri untouched until they both reach the bed sheets and the damp towel is left forgotten on the floor. They kiss without rushing, every movement languid with the familiar ease that leaves Yuri sighing into Otabek’s mouth. He is so damn torn between wanting to make out until his jaw is sore and asking Otabek to take care of him already because his cock throbs under Otabek’s weight.  
  
He is painfully naked with Otabek fully dressed; already peppering wet kisses down his torso. It should be embarrassing but it’s not, instead he feels home and safe, despite being exposed raw. Beka’s clothes join the towel on the floor and Yuri lets out a sigh of relief as his torso is trailed by wet kisses that rapidly reach down. The unceremonious way Otabek licks his whole length should make him blush, but he just whimpers behind pressed lips.  
  
Daylight is unforgiving, there is nothing that can shadow faults or regrets; no tacky black light, no hiding behind the cover of the dark. Yuri finds that he loves it all the better because it’s Otabek, because it’s them, because he can think of them as _‘them’_ despite his best efforts. Beka slicks his ass all over and curls fingers inside slowly, taking his time, making Yuri whimper. His hips raise from the mattress and Otabek holds him still, two fingers still inside, slowly stretching him loose even though they both know he is open. Yuri watches Beka crawl to him, fingers still working his hole, pressing against the spot he knows too well.  
  
“Easy,” Otabek whispers into his ear when Yuri moans for more, keening, thrusting. “Easy… Yura, I’ll take care of you.”  
  
Yuri sobs but with what emotion, he cannot tell. His eyes shut fast when Otabek pushes in a third finger, scissoring, opening, twisting them where they should, milking precome out of Yuri, only minutes in. Yuri is _open_ , in every sense of the word; yet Otabek is greedy, Otabek is patient, Otabek waits for more. He waits for Yuri to cry, to sob, to beg for it. “Easy, baby,” he repeats; his words cut by hot breath and wet sound of his fingers fucking Yuri slow but intense. “It’s okay.”  
  
Otabek is ready to injure himself if it means he can fuck Yuri’s anguish away. His knuckles start to ache but he knows Yuri, knows where his buttons are and knows how to push them. Yuri pushes himself on Otabek’s fingers frantically, squeezing his fingers tight, his stomach stiffens. The first time Yuri comes, he comes hard and dry; Otabek catches his staccato moans with an open mouthed sloppy kiss, sucking it away as the boy shakes beside him, holding onto the sheets and Otabek, leaving crescent moon marks on his arm.  
  
Otabek is greedy, and his cock is pulsating against his stomach, desperate for Yuri’s snug heat around it. He is determined to fuck Yuri into a dreamless sleep, for even in his panting mess of a state, lifting his hips for more, his exposed hole clenching for Otabek alone, Yuri still yawns into his arm. Wet hair sprawled on Otabek’s pillows, skin still supple and soft from the hot shower, weight of hours of emotional and physical turmoil on his lithe form… Otabek exhales deep and reaches for another kiss, lasting long enough to leave him winded.  
  
“Rest today,” he pleads, and Yuri grunts an indistinguishable protest but fails to take it further. He doesn’t want to rest, he wants to be fucked by Otabek, filled by Otabek; he wants to come on Otabek’s cock and lie there boneless, limp against him until the sunlight turns and finally hits that spot in bed where it makes afternoon naps fucking impossible. With his favourite person between his legs, Yuri doesn’t want to rest and waste time unconscious. Otabek is teasing his rim again already, slick with lube and his own precome and Yuri can only whine before Otabek slides in, holding out a hand as words come difficultly now.  
  
“Beka, wait—”  
  
“Want me to stop?”  
  
“No! _No,_ fuck. Just… Condom.”  
  
Beka blinks at him for a couple of heartbeats while Yuri beats his lower lip and closes his eyes briefly.  
  
It’s a reminder of where he’s been, it’s also a reminder that Otabek shouldn’t be there just because Yuri has. The whole thing feels like a broken pixel on a screen. Not noticeable when you don’t look for it, but you still know it’s _there_. Clashing with everything else.  
  
Otabek nods, smiling the way he saves for Yuri alone, and lets Yuri rip off the shiny package and roll the latex on. It’s fine. He doesn’t care whether there is a ghost of a layer between them. He wants Yuri to be at ease. When he rubs Yuri’s opening with one hand and strokes his leaking cock with the other, he hasn’t left anything else in his mind anyway.  
  
Yuri’s eyes roll back with the girth that _finally_ fills him. He clutches at slate grey sheets, trying to breathe it out. It’s overwhelming; not Beka’s size but the heat and the stretch and knowing that it’s _him_. He twitches at the thought and lets out raspy moans, trying to move himself on Otabek without success. He needs it deep; he needs Otabek to fill him until there is no place left for anything else. Yuri reaches out his hand and grabs Beka life a lifebelt, pulling himself up. It’s hard to make Otabek budge; older guy holds him up but does not lie down to let Yuri ride him. Any other time, Yuri would get his way but even with the way the head of his cock shines wet with fresh precome, even with his hands wantonly grabbing Otabek wherever they can reach, he doesn’t have the fight in him. Not this morning. Otabek wants to take care of him, and Yuri wants to allow it.  
  
He gets hoisted up with little hassle, his back now pressing against the cold wall where his weight rests on Otabek’s arms, where Otabek can fuck him into the concrete until Yuri is desperate for something to hold on to. Beka sucks on his earlobe and Yuri can swear there is steam coming out of his pores when he growls low, his voice vibrating in Yuri’s chest.  
  
“You’re close, aren’t you?”  
  
A pathetic moan to confirm that, _yes, he is damn close_. It’s all he can spare.  
  
Yuri shuts his eyes and hangs there helpless as Otabek goes in and out, filling him up completely and depriving him of it, over and over again. He can only take it, holding onto Beka’s neck for dear life for he knows if Otabek lets go, he will collapse.  
  
“Tell me what you want, Yura,” Otabek requests, between his own pants and groans. Yuri takes him so willingly that he wants to double himself so he can fill Yuri twice as much, making him cry and beg for his dick. Otabek _is_ greedy but Yuri is needy, Otabek is certain he would take it. Images in his mind make him drive into the boy hard before he slows himself down again. He asks once more, their hot breaths mixing into each other. “Tell me what you want Yura.”  
  
Yuri, in all his surrender, gasps before locking his eyes on Otabek’s. Staring at them this closely always make something shift and turn inside Otabek’s chest; it’s so deeply rooted and old that he can barely tell it apart from his own blood and flesh.  
  
Yuri is a fighter through and through and for that very reason, his surrender is all the more treasured.  
  
“Fuck me,” Yuri answers, his whisper sharp like nails against Otabek’s skin.  
  
“Tell me how.”  
  
“ _Hard._ Fuck me hard, damn it. Fuck me good. I need it.”  
  
It sounds far too much like _‘I need you’_. They can both hear it.  
  
Otabek does as he is told, holding Yuri still between the wall, slamming into him as the wet lewd sound of flesh hitting flesh fills the gaps between Yuri’s swelling moans and Otabek’s own sharp breath.  
  
The second time Yuri comes, he spills all over Otabek’s chest and his own, his legs kicking the air as his hips sink down Otabek’s length without grace, riding out the last waves of his orgasm. He repeats Otabek’s name like a chant, the sight enough to make Otabek come undone with faltering breath, jerking inside Yuri until his arms start to shake too much to hold him up. He puts Yuri back on the bed with the last of his strength and collapses on his chest.  
  
They lie side by side, eyes focused on nothing until their breaths are even. It takes Otabek a while before he can remember to get rid of the condom that he is suddenly too aware of. Yuri watches him walk to the trash can and come back. Otabek’s soft gaze always surrounds him like his favorite weather, but even more so when it is bright with afterglow. It shouldn’t make him blush, for the guy has been balls deep in him moment ago, but it still does. Yuri hides his cheeks behind his arms, supposedly hiding from daylight.  
  
Daily humming outside the closed windows carries on; it is distant to Yuri’s senses when Otabek lies back on the bed and pulls the sheets over them. It’s not even noon and he is ready to let the day float away, sleep with his head resting on Otabek’s chest for days and days. His job manages to spark a worry and he groans, trying to check the time on Otabek’s phone.  
  
“ _Shit_ , the diner…”  
  
“Take a nap.” Otabek interrupts him, pushing his phone away. “I’ll wake you up.”  
  
Yuri questions him for a split second but he is too tired to argue; he nods, letting himself drift away. He’ll wake up in twenty minutes, he plans watching Otabek’s chest rise up with every deep breath. He’ll take another shower and go to work. Yet his shift slips his mind when Otabek starts drawing idle circles on his back. Sleep surrounds him effortlessly before he notices Otabek finding the diner’s number on his contact list.  
  
He doesn’t hear Otabek lying about him catching stomach flu. He doesn’t even stir when Otabek switches off his phone, throws it on the pile of clothes and towel on the floor before pulling Yuri closer and conveniently forgetting about his classes along with setting an alarm.

**Author's Note:**

> As a result of many chats with Kait on her (rather amazing) Loverboy AU, this happened. I have _so_ much love for this AU (which is eventually an #otapliroy) and I'm super chuffed that she is fine with me writing for it.
> 
> Many thanks to Ronnie and Clio for beta reading my draftiest drafts and giving great feedback. 
> 
> Title song: Placebo
> 
> Come to [tumblr](http://dizzytea.tumblr.com/) and talk to me.


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